Five Times Bellamy Saw Gina and One Time He Didn't
by sorcerysupremes
Summary: 5 and 1 fic. Because Gina was real... and she deserved better.


**Five Times Bellamy Saw Gina and One Time He Didn't**

1.

When Bellamy was thirteen, his mother made him go to the Unity Day celebration alone. Octavia was sick with the sniffles and a particularly rough cough, which meant that Aurora Blake had to be sick because, by all counts, Octavia didn't exist. Bellamy wanted to stay, to help, like he always did. But it was Unity Day, a chance for celebration and fun and, most importantly, the only holiday on the Ark, so _somebody_ needed to be there.

"Go see the Pageant," she said while she braided his sister's hair, making sure to cover Octavia's mouth when she coughed, "so you can tell your sister all about it."

"It'll be the same as every other year," he groaned, but when he saw the daggers in his mother's eyes, he knew the argument was over.

So he stood and watched while a group of ten year olds carried the twelve flags and marched in a circle, same as it was every other year. The narrator this time was a girl with a head of full, poofy, brown curls tied back with a bow, just like Octavia's. The Chancellor introduced her as Gina, and she began to tell the story of the Ark.

Or that's what was supposed to happen. Instead, when Gina opened her mouth, she sped through each word of the memorized narrative, so quiet and quick that Bellamy thought he had missed it altogether. At the end of it, she turned beet-red, rattled by all the attention. And she stood frozen in place until an older man knelt next to her and whispered into her ear — Mr. Martin, the Ark's historian and Gina's father.

Mr. Martin was older than many of the other parents with children Gina's age; he was much older still than Bellamy's mom, with a grey receding hairline and salt-and-pepper five-o'clock shadow. He had moved quickly to get to where his daughter stood, to contort his spindly body until he reached her ear, and just as quickly, he was back in place by the Chancellor's side.

Bellamy didn't have to wonder where Gina's mom was on such a special occasion, why she wasn't there to watch her daughter perform. News travelled fast and far on the Ark, and everyone knew about the Martins. How Mrs. Martin got pregnant so young. How they lost the baby soon afterwards. How they kept trying for nearly a decade for another. How Mrs. Martin's final pregnancy was riddled with complications, confining her to bedrest for months. How Mr. Martin got a daughter at last, though she came at the cost of his wife. Bellamy understood all about the sacrifices that parents made for their child. After all, his mom had Octavia.

When Mr. Martin smiled again to Gina, there was a crinkling around his eyes — pride, maybe, or happiness. Whatever it was, Bellamy noticed.

Gina cleared her throat to start over, and when she did, she commanded the attention of the entire Ark in a beautiful Unity Day performance. There was a moment where Bellamy thought that her eyes were focused on him, but he quickly looked away.

When the Pageant concluded, Bellamy tried to sneak out amid the applause, to get back to his mom and Octavia, but when he felt a tug at the back of his shirt, he stopped short.

It was the girl — Gina.

"What?"

Bellamy wasn't, at this point, much good with people. He didn't have many friends. He didn't go out often. He didn't have a lot of extra time, not when he had to take care of his secret sister.

"I'm sorry for staring at you," the girl said, and though the apology caught Bellamy off-guard, he noticed how gentle her brown eyes looked. "My dad told me when I'm nervous I should look for a kind face and focus on that."

Bellamy never much considered himself to have a kind face, and his cheeks grew hot at the sentiment. He shuffled in place. "Oh."

"Sorry if it made you uncomfortable."

"Okay."

Upon sight of Gina and Bellamy standing together near the hallway that led out of Alpha, Gina's father broke off a conversation with members of the Council and rushed over, setting a heavy hand on his daughter's shoulder. He did not look at Bellamy Blake.

When Gina's father spoke, his voice was slightly gruffer than Bellamy anticipated it to be. "The Chancellor wants to speak with you, Gina."

And when she turned around, Bellamy took his opportunity to disappear.

2.

The next time Bellamy saw Gina it was Unity Day again, just shy of a decade later. He was a guard this time — well, in training to be; _technically_ he was still just a cadet. His uniform seemed even more ill-fitting and scratchy than usual that day, like a shedding second skin.

He was assigned patrols around Alpha Station, along with the other trainees. Gina was standing on a ladder, hanging recycled paper streamers to the ceiling. Bellamy very nearly couldn't see the ceiling, the view of it blocked almost in entirety by thin strips of dulled colors. They weren't as bright as he remembered them being when he was younger, but he supposed even faded blues and reds and greens would bring some hope to the Ark on Unity Day.

The Unity Day banner was old and worn from use and reuse, but it was brought out again for another go-round, tacked on each edge and at the center so it could hang in the doorway. And as Gina stretched her body, arms to the ceiling to stick more decorations up, Bellamy could just see the small of her back peeking out from beneath her red shirt.

Apparently, he was staring.

Gina turned around on the ladder as if she had felt his eyes burning into her. Her loose brown curls framed her face like a photograph, cushioned on her shoulders. She pointed to the decorations and asked aloud, "You think it's too much?"

Her question caught him by surprise, and he sputtered a bit before finally shaking his head.

With a gentle huff of air, a smile parted her lips.

"You don't have to be so kind," she said as she climbed down to ground level. "I know it's a lot. But this, Unity Day, it's all we have, y'know? It's our history. Everything else is…"

She broke off her sentence, turned forlornly to the window that prominently displayed Earth — the home their people had long left behind.

Bellamy loved learning about history, loved reading about the Greeks and the Romans, especially. _The Iliad_ , _The Odyssey_ — he knew it all by heart, knew all the gods and goddesses, the mythology, the philosophy. Bellamy was a good guard, sure; he excelled in Earth Skills, yeah — but history had his heart.

"I'm Gina, by the way," she said and stuck out her hand to him. She was sitting now on the bottommost ladder rung, legs crossed at the knee. "Just… not sure if you knew or not."

But he knew. He remembered.

"Bellamy." He took her hand in his and noticed immediately how soft it was in comparison to his. There were no callouses on hers, no cuts, no bruises. Just skin, soft and smooth.

"I know," she said with a grin, and Bellamy realized he still had her hand. He quickly let it go, waiting for the inevitable wave of awkwardness to set in. But it didn't; Gina didn't give it the opportunity. She continued, "You're going to be a guard."

It came out as more of a question than an observation, though it was both.

"Yeah." He fidgeted with the sleeve of his jacket. "And you?"

"Historian's apprentice," she replied, then as her smile faded, indicated toward the banner. "And today, event planner."

"Well, you do good work."

Her eyes flicked up to meet his. "You're being kind again."

A chuckle slipped past slightly cracked lips. "Sorry; I can stop if you want."

"Don't," she said, a mild blush crossing her cheeks. "It suits you."

He took a step forward and said, "It really does look good though."

"It has to." Gina was silent for a moment, pensive, though it was clear to Bellamy that she had more to say. She held the words like her breath until they exploded off her tongue. "It's just crazy to think that _this_ is all we know. Just this and whatever they thought was important enough to save. And in another ninety-six years, who knows what our legacy will be. What will be important enough to save then?" She gestured wildly, hair flying about her face until it landed, splayed across her forehead and shoulders.

There was a copy of _The Iliad_ under his pillow in 17-B. He read it every night, and before he could on his own, his mother had read it to him — and eventually Octavia too, though she hardly cared for it like he did. Books were scarce on the Ark, but the important ones, like Gina said, were saved.

But she wasn't so thrilled about that fact as he had been, and something inside of him panged upon seeing the frustrated crinkle in her forehead.

"The Ark could be our legacy, right?" he offered. "Surviving the end of the world?"

"Right." Gina's features softened as she looked up at Bellamy. "You know, I always love an optimist. We could use more of that around here."

"See? It's not Doomsday." He inched closer to her again, the motion almost subconscious, then he stopped himself. "Not yet, at least."

She brushed a loose curl behind her ear. "Thanks. But I'm sure you have much more important things to do than listen to me rant nonsense."

"Maybe a few things, but—"

"Blake!" Shumway's voice echoed through the halls of Alpha, his heavy footsteps approaching at rapid pace.

Bellamy figured that Shumway was coming to inform him that he was on guard duty for the masquerade that night — some sort of screw-you or punishment for something, he was sure — but the joke was on Shumway: Bellamy _wanted_ guard duty. That was all part of the plan…

Gina playfully raised a brow. "Only a few?"

Bellamy shrugged. "You said _important_ things…"

Gina set a hand on Bellamy's arm, and he jolted at the touch. She gave his arm a comforting squeeze before whispering to him, "Don't let me get you in trouble, soldier."

And by the time Shumway arrived at Alpha Station, Gina and her ladder were both gone.

Bellamy saw Gina that night, too, though he wished he hadn't.

The whole council was present — Jaha, Abby, Kane, even Gina's father, and Gina stood beside him. She was still wearing her masquerade mask from the dance; it was pushed up on the top of her head to reveal her face, the small beads reflecting the light overhead.

When Shumway had brought Bellamy to the airlock to wait, a pair of guards escorted Octavia to juvenile lockup where she would remain until she turned eighteen and could be floated, per protocol. Bellamy had tried, begged to take her place, argued until he was blue in the face, but the Chancellor didn't permit it. Bellamy was the legal Blake child; Octavia ought never to have been born.

There was no trial following Aurora's arrest. They just took her away, brought her to the airlock, walked her straight past Bellamy in silence. Though he was 23, he felt like a child again — helpless, alone. And it was all his fault.

He wanted to scream, to say something, anything — even just 'goodbye' or 'I love you' or 'I'm sorry' — but he couldn't find the words, couldn't force them past his dry mouth.

A whimper escaped his lips: "Mom."

He stood desperate and paralyzed in front of the airlock as they closed his mother in. Jaha gave the order, and Shumway hit the button, and Aurora Blake disappeared.

For a moment, there was a silence that exploded, filled with unfelt emotion and unspoken words. Everyone looked expectantly at Bellamy.

Execution by floating was a grave occurrence, and the Council looked stoic as the airlock doors shut again. Jaha spoke words that Bellamy couldn't hear while the Ark historian noted the time of death, and his apprentice, his daughter, looked on in abject horror at her first floating.

Bellamy watched from a distance as Gina's father set a firm hand on her shoulder, and she flinched against the weight of it. She looked at Bellamy, her eyes brimming with sympathetic tears. She went to move toward him, but her father held her back, and she glared at him, her hardened face practically screaming 'you should understand what it's like'. And he did understand because he let her go.

She sprinted to Bellamy who stared at her from almost outside himself. Everything was too close and too far away at once.

"Bellamy." She said his name — that's it — and her voice was soft, gentle. Her eyes were stained with tears, all red and wet.

He looked at her but didn't speak. He couldn't — there was nothing to say.

She filled in the empty space next to him, and they sat in silence in front of the airlock. The Council dispersed without another word.

From the window, they could see the moon in its glory, illuminated by the last flicker of solar flare. It was otherwise a beautiful night — but it hadn't been worth it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bellamy could see, and feel, Gina's eyes on him, like she was waiting for him to do something.

She was hesitant, but she finally asked, "Are you… okay?"

They both knew he wasn't.

He was quiet at first and could feel the water welling up in his eyes.

"I was complicit," he growled, burying his face into his hands so she didn't see the tears. He didn't want to cry, not here, not now. "Let them float me too."

"They wouldn't do that," she said, her eyes scouring his face. It was supposed to be reassuring, though it was anything but.

"They _should_."

3.

The next time Bellamy saw Gina, a year later, he almost didn't. He was running so quickly down the halls of Alpha Station that his feet barely touched the ground as he flew past her.

She was just standing there, holding in her hand a leather binder and a pen, like she was just on her way to a meeting with…

"Bellamy!" She called out his name, first as a greeting, then in confusion, her voice strained against the back of her throat. "Bellamy?"

He wanted so desperately to stop, but his legs kept sprinting; they had to. The thought of Octavia on the dropship alone was enough to propel him forward, faster than he thought his feet could carry him. He was almost out of time.

Gina's voice followed him down the hall, though he wasn't sure if she was really still calling him or not. The echo chased him as he ran, so loud and pleading he threw a worried glance back over his shoulder.

But no one was there.

4.

The next time Bellamy saw Gina, he didn't expect to.

For the first time in what felt like ages, he woke up from a full night's sleep — though it was fueled mostly by exhaustion and worry for Clarke — and he stretched himself out in his bunk, feeling the thin bed sheets scrape against his skin. There was still a lot to get used to now that they had a sort of home. And for the first time in a while, he could just take his time and enjoy it, knowing that everyone (well, mostly everyone, if he didn't count Clarke) was okay.

When he sat up in the bed, he saw his clothes, the last thing he remembered wearing, folded at his feet. Suddenly aware of how bare he was, he pulled his shirt on, stumbling as he did.

He was pulling on his pants when there was a knock on the door, and he grumbled, "Just a minute."

"Door's open," came a voice through the entryway as its source began to approach him from behind. He jumped at the sound and turned around, pants barely at his hips, to see her. "Just thought you should know."

"Gina, shit!" he said, and it sounded, in his embarrassed fervor, like one smooshed word. He quickly buttoned his buckle and tried to ignore the feeling of blush across his face. Once he could control himself, he asked, "When did you get here?"

She raised her brow playfully and closed the door behind her. "Just in time, by the looks of it." She let slip a bout of laughter that flared her nostrils. "Or maybe a second too late."

Bellamy let out a sigh of relief and let himself fall against his bunk. He was relieved, though he didn't want to admit it. If anybody happened to catch him that way, he wouldn't complain too much that it was her.

Gina tried not to smile as she sat next to him and chuckled, gently nudging him with her elbow. "Bellamy Blake… Arkadia's resident strip show."

Bellamy fought the blush that crept up his cheeks. "Is that what they're calling this place?"

The question caught Gina off-guard. "The Council picked it," she said. Her face fell, her eyes moved askance, and she continued, "What's left of 'em, anyway."

He had just gotten back to Camp Jaha — or what used to be Camp Jaha — the day before following their trek from Mount Weather. He still didn't know who made it, or who didn't, besides Abby and Kane and Miller's dad. He was rushed through the camp, through medical, and to bed so quickly that everything was a blur. He didn't even know where the others wound up.

He and Gina hadn't seen each other since the Ark, since the day he shot Jaha and dropped to Earth with the rest, but they were so familiar, like they had been friends forever. Gina had that way about her, he guessed, because it sure as hell wasn't his friendly personality.

Gina's eyes flickered across his face, and she brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. He could feel her fingers, freshly calloused and scraped up, against his face.

"I'm glad you're okay."

"Me too," he said, and he pursed his lips together, the closest he could come to a smile.

He _wasn't_ okay, but he knew what she meant: not dead, not dying, not completely shattered. 'Okay' was just a better, kinder way of saying it. And Gina was nothing if not kind.

An uncomfortable silence permeated the room, and he bent down to tie the laces of his boots. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

Gina's face fell, and she fiddled with the fraying hem of her shirt. "Oh… well, um, I volunteered to check on you, so…"

"I didn't mean it that way," he corrected, but she didn't seem to hear him.

She stood up and ran her fingers through her hair. "I should go, though; there's always more standard-issue grunt work to —"

"Wait."

Bellamy caught her wrist in his hand, and she turned back toward him. She stood in front of him, her head cocked to the side as she stared at him.

"Don't leave yet," he said. He still held her arm but let it go once he realized.

"I haven't."

There was way too much going on in his brain, and Gina was a calming constant. He didn't want to be left alone with his thoughts — of Mount Weather, of Clarke, of —

" _Are_ you okay?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts. "Any head trauma I should alert Abby about?"

"I'm fine," he said and sat back down on the edge of the cot.

'Fine' was another word like 'okay'.

She sat down next to him. "You're not fine; I know fine, and it doesn't look anything like _this_." Her mouth pressed into a meditative frown, and she pulled her leg up so her body was angled toward his. "You know you can tell me what's wrong."

He just nodded, and she seemed to understand that the motion said far more than he could with words. She didn't say anything else either; the silence was too valuable.

Gina set her arm across his back, rested her head against his shoulder. It was surprisingly intimate, but she had that way about her, like she was a blanket wrapped tightly, comfortably around him. Bellamy could feel her heartbeat and matched his to its rhythm, matched the cadence of his breathing to hers.

It was the closest to peace he had felt in years…

5.

The next time, give or take, that Bellamy saw Gina, he had it all planned.

Although he didn't know what time it was, it was already dark when he crept into her room, and she was fast asleep, wrapped snugly beneath cotton sheets, her one leg wrapped outside the covers. She was such a peaceful sight that he was almost hesitant to wake her, but he knelt down at her side and gently shook her by the shoulder.

"Hey." His voice was more a hiss than a whisper, and it startled her awake. "Gina."

When she sat up, Bellamy could make out the outline of her figure beneath her shirt, and she shivered against the cold. "Wha—?"

"Get up and come with me." He waited for a moment as she pulled on boots and grabbed her jacket.

When she finished, they snuck out from Alpha Station together, the darkness and silence setting in around them as they took quiet, deliberate steps through Arkadia.

"Are you gonna tell me what's going on?" she asked in a hushed whisper, following closely behind him. She pulled her jacket tighter around herself. Although it was summer, the nights were still cold, and she wasn't yet used to it.

He was tempted to warm her up the old-fashioned way. But as much as he wanted to rip Gina's clothes off and take her on the spot — that was, he knew, how sex for pleasure worked, after all — this was different, and he knew being patient would be worth it.

Gina was different. She was gentle, and her every touch lit his body on fire, less like a lightning strike and more like a slow burning flame or settling into hot water.

Bellamy shook his head.

"Are we allowed to just leave?" she asked, dropping at the edge of the gate. Her face furrowed.

"We're good," Bellamy replied. "I got it cleared."

Gina quirked her brow. "That's why we're sneaking out in the dark?"

He sighed. "Touché."

He climbed through brush and branches, clearing the way for her as he went.

"Where are we going?" she demanded, dodging a pricker bush on her left.

Bellamy just chuckled. "You'll see."

And in less time than anticipated, they arrived at an empty clearing, the grass sprinkled with dew. It was surrounded on all sides by a thick curtain of trees. Secluded and beautiful. Bellamy pulled the supplies from his pack — their tent and a blanket. He was a minimalist, after all.

While she looked up at the stars, he got to work setting up, and before long they had a place to rest.

"You woke me up to walk me into the woods," she started, and her hands snapped into place on her hips, "so I could go back to sleep… in a tent?"

"No," he said. "I woke you up for this."

Bellamy spun her around just in time for her to see the moon breaking over the tree-lined horizon, its bright white light illuminating the night sky.

She stood stunned, her mouth agape. "Wow."

They had moon rises on the Ark, yeah, and they were spectacular, but it felt so much more magical looking on it from this far. Even the stars were magnificent. What used to be a standard site in space became a wondrous and beautiful display.

"So this was a good surprise then?"

Gina smiled, her lips spread wide across her face. She stepped toward Bellamy, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him. "The _best_ surprise."

And that night they slept together snuggled up beneath the stars, enjoying the moonlight until sunrise.

1.

The last time Bellamy sees Gina, he doesn't realize it's the last time. And the next time he expects to see her, he doesn't.

Bellamy stands with Octavia and Pike, armed and prepared to escort their people home, in front of Lexa and an increasingly perplexed Coalition. They are led to Polis by Echo's warnings of an ambush on Skaikru during the treaty.

"How did you come by this information?" Lexa demands, her brows knotted.

They wait for the answer to present itself, though the moment passes without the sound of her voice. He spins around in search of it, and the others do too, but she's gone.

Octavia growls, "Where's Echo?"

Bellamy feels his heart drop in his chest. They've been fooled. He doesn't want to believe it, but he hands over his weapon anyway.

Where _is_ Echo?

His radio buzzes with static before Raven's voice comes in. She calls his name, her voice coated in thick desperation, and he pulls the receiver from his belt.

"The grounders attacked Mount Weather," she says; he can hear it in her voice that she's crying.

His mouth goes numb, and the question escapes his lips without him realizing: "What are you talking about?"

If he refuses to believe it, perhaps he can will it out of existence.

"It's gone, it's all gone, everyone's gone." The radio is silent for a moment that feels like forever. "Sinclair and I are the only ones left."

She sobs apologies into the radio, and he knows, deep inside of him he knows, they're for him. They're for everyone, but for him especially.

For Gina.

At the thought of her, Bellamy feels his knees go weak, and he struggles to hold down the contents of his stomach. But he keeps his brave face because he has no other choice.

"We need to leave," he says, and Abby nods; Lexa permits it if Clarke stays behind.

In his head, he formulates a plan. They'll leave Polis, split up; he'll take a rescue team to Mount Weather. They'll save Gina and the others, bring them home to Arkadia, and…

 _"_ _Please," she had said before she left, her fingertips gently rubbing against his knee, "just take it easy for a while."_

 _Her touch felt incredible, ever-so-slightly numbing the pain that shot through his leg, and he moaned against it, leaned his head gratefully against her chest. But she had to leave, to go to Mount Weather; another day, another supply run. And by the time she came back, it was his turn to leave, leg be damned._

 _But she caught him before he left, pulling a gift from the Mount Weather supply raids:_ The Iliad. _"You said your mom used to read this to you." She handed it to him, and he smiled. She remembered everything. "Thought you'd like it."_

 _He did, but there was work to be done, and gifts, no matter how wonderful, needed to be set aside for now._

 _When he finally had to leave, she kissed him again, the familiar taste of her lips against his. "Be safe."_

In last conversation, his last words to her were empty.

 _"_ _Don't do anything stupidly heroic," she had said before he left for Polis. As if she had somehow known something was up._

 _And he, clueless as ever, in a pathetic attempt to make it all right, joked with a shit-eating smirk: "Garden-variety heroic. Got it."_

If he had known, there are a million things he wishes he said instead, everything he never said, the things he waited too long to tell her. Bellamy plays out each variety of the conversation in his head, not knowing which would have been the best.

He convinces himself, selfishly, that her last thoughts were of him, and he lets the guilt swallow him whole. He shouldn't have left her there; she didn't even want to go. She said she was afraid, and he brushed it off.

He hates having left her there as much as she hates being left there, but it's easy to convince himself that Mount Weather is safer for her than Polis would be.

Instead, it killed her.

And _he's_ the reason she's dead.

Back in Arkadia, they set up a makeshift memorial for those lost at Mount Weather. There is nothing left of the dead but what they kept behind at camp, and those items are set up on a small side table, surrounded by candles.

Bellamy tries to remember the sound of Gina's voice, how her lips tasted the last time he kissed her, but it's gone. Her memory is a ghost — invisible except for the unyielding feeling of dread and regret it calls back. And the more he thinks on it, the more his chest aches.

"Who will speak for Gina Martin?"

 _The Iliad_ is set on Bellamy's lap, his fingers wrapped gingerly around the binding. A folded piece of paper sticks out from beneath the its cover: a letter.

 _Dear Gina…_

He doesn't know what to say, and he's not much of a writer, but he knows he can spit the words onto the pages, and they'll at least be out of his head.

 _I'm so sorry…_

The pen marks run deep into the paper, the ink smearing against his hand as he rushes to write everything down before he forgets.

But can he really forget?

 _It's my fault…_

Between the Mountain Men and this, he's almost glad Mount Weather is gone — or he would be if it hadn't taken so many of their people down with it. Its cold stone façade can't mock him anymore now that it's rubble; it can't remind him of his mistakes or how many lives he's taken or what a monster he's become.

 _I should've stayed… I should've let you come with us… I should've…_

There are, of course, a million things Bellamy _should have_ done, _could have_ done, _would have_ done if only he'd known. But it's too late for that. All he can offer now are apologies and guilt and the ferocity of a broken man to avenge her.

 _I love you. And I'm so sorry that wasn't enough._

His name is signed at the bottom in clumsy script, the paper dotted and smeared with tears — his. It is the only time he openly cries for her.

As much as he wishes that Gina could, Bellamy is grateful that no one will ever read this letter, the nonsensical ramblings of a madman — each word, each sentence, each paragraph of it undressing his insanity. He doesn't want to share his mourning with anyone else.

Not like this.

When Pike asks someone to speak about Gina, Bellamy waits for someone better, stronger, more qualified to volunteer, but everyone is waiting on him, looking at him, _expecting_ him.

With the book, her last gift, clenched tightly in his hand, he finally gets up.

"Gina was real," he says and blinks tears away. "She always saw the light, even here." His voice is quivering. His eyes scan the book — its design simple, beautiful, like Gina. And he drowns for a moment beneath the weight of his guilt. "She deserved better."

Bellamy clings tight to the book — the last piece of her he has left. He steps toward the memorial, loosening his grip on the memory with each step.

As he goes to set it down, he starts the intercession: "May we meet again."

He doesn't hear what happens next. Then all of a sudden, Lincoln is hit, and everyone is screaming, fighting. He tries to stop it because, damn it, they're grieving, but in that moment, nobody cares about Gina Martin — and he hates them for it.

In the chaos that ensues, _The Iliad_ falls from his hands. It echoes against the floor in a flurry of pages, lost in the throes of punches and hurled insults.

And in that moment and all that follow, one thought lingers: _She deserved better_.


End file.
